


Amor Ebrius

by valeskaisms



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Batjokes, Choking, Developing Relationship, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, Light Masochism, Light Sadism, Love/Hate, M/M, Minor Violence, Wayleska - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-10-31 22:11:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17857907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valeskaisms/pseuds/valeskaisms
Summary: Jeremiah makes Bruce feel lightheaded in the best way possible. He isn’t sure how to feel about that.;; in which Bruce may be a little bit addicted to the way that Jeremiah makes him feel.





	Amor Ebrius

A gloved hand rests under Bruce’s jaw, purple satin soft against his flushed skin. He finds himself leaning into the touch, even as Jeremiah’s fingertips press against his cheek hard enough to leave a bruise the same colour as his gloves; as if he’s trying to force his way through the layers of Bruce’s skin. Bruce finds it rather horrifying to note that he’d not only let Jeremiah dig through the flesh of his cheek until it was torn and bloody, but that he’d likely thank the paler man for doing so.

Bruce can’t remember how they got to this. He isn’t sure when exactly his morbid curiousity got the better of him; when exactly he decided to let Jeremiah have at him. When he decided to surrender like this. But he supposes that Jeremiah surrenders a piece of himself each time, too. For he’s always so gentle as he hurts him. And that can’t be easy for someone who so often seems void of emotion (that is, when he’s not with Bruce).

Gentle violence should be a contradiction. And with anybody else it would be. But with Jeremiah... It’s different. He’s careful as he leaves bitemarks and bruises. More careful than Bruce ever expected him to be. He makes sure not to make him bleed too much, only enough to make Bruce look like a beautiful Jackson Pollock painting, the younger man’s blood staining the underneath of Jeremiah’s nails a dark red. Bruce has never seen a look of adoration quite like the way Jeremiah looks at him as he hisses in pain. Nor has he ever seen a look of pride quite like how Jeremiah looks at him when he leans into every stinging touch, desperate for more.

When his knees buckle beneath him at the mere placement of Jeremiah’s hand around his neck, he isn’t surprised. It wouldn’t be the first time that he’s nearly fallen to his knees for Jeremiah. Part of him knows that this, by all normal rules that govern his life, shouldn’t be happening. But if Gotham had taught him anything, it’s that sometimes you have to bypass the normal rules. Something about giving up the power he has so desperately tried to hold over Jeremiah in the past ignites a fire inside of him. It burns inside his stomach, flames licking at his heart and singing his throat. And it feels good. Addictive. So even though he knows he shouldn’t... He keeps coming back for more.

Bruce struggles to breathe. He isn’t sure whether it’s his feelings about Jeremiah (nerves, arousal, excitement) causing his heartrate to skyrocket; or whether it’s the beautiful pressure being applied to his neck by slender fingers. He figures that it’s a mixture of both. He comes to realise that his breath has become wispy gasps. Just enough air; but barely. Jeremiah keeps him in that state for a while — conscious, but barely — careful to ensure that Bruce gets just enough oxygen to stay responsive. The smile on Jeremiah’s face is somewhere between reassuring and smug; and Bruce isn’t sure how a man can encapsulate so many contradictions at once.

It’s only when Bruce’s knees buckle again and his vision begins to fade to white that Jeremiah releases his throat from his grasp. Bruce would be lying if he said that the lightheaded feeling wasn’t a rush. His breaths are irregular and his heart pounds, working overtime as it tries to desperately pump blood around Bruce’s oxygen-starved body. His hand grips a pale arm to steady himself. The skin is soft and creamy, yet cold in a way that is both soothing and unsettling. More contradictions. Bruce’s mind goes fuzzy for a moment.

A tug of his wrist brings him back to reality, and suddenly he’s pressed against Jeremiah. It all feels rather intimate. Jeremiah stares at him. Studies his face for a few moments. Bruce feels vulnerable. He thinks it rather strange that when Jeremiah’s hand finds it way to tightly grip a handful of his hair, Bruce feels a wave of what feels like safety wash over him. When Jeremiah tugs Bruce forwards, closer, by the brown locks between his fingers, Bruce can’t decide whether this is a twisted version of his personal heaven, or a blissful version of what should be hell. All he knows is that the gentle pain he feels at the pull on the roots of his hair is so inviting.

They’re extremely close, now. So close, in fact, that Bruce can feel Jeremiah’s breath against his face. The faint scent of mint comes from between soft lips painted in dark lipstick. It’s intimidating to be this close to Jeremiah. Bruce knows quite well that Jeremiah could easily slit his throat right now and leave him for dead. Part of him thinks he would actually rather enjoy that. The rest of him is in denial. Another gentle tug, and their lips are inches apart. Bruce’s breath catches in his throat. Jeremiah’s eyes search his for a moment, before they flutter shut (and his shut in turn) as he presses his lips against Bruce’s.

The kiss is soft at first. Almost romantic. Bruce’s fingertips graze the pale skin of Jeremiah’s cheek. It’s nice, and it almost lulls Bruce into a false sense of normality. As if they’re not Bruce Wayne and Jeremiah Valeska; but instead just two men who have feelings for each other. But that doesn’t last long. It quickly gets more desperate; more forceful, until Bruce is pretty sure his lips will be swollen and bruised after this. Not that he particularly cares. No, no. He’s past the point of caring now. In fact, he’s almost ashamed at how his heart leaps at the thought of it. 

Bruce’s hand rests comfortably at Jeremiah’s chest for a moment, before he grasps at Jeremiah’s shirt, fingers clenched around the fabric. He wants to pull Jeremiah closer, but he realises that it’s not possible. The only way that Jeremiah could be closer to him would be for him to crawl inside of Bruce’s flesh. Normally Bruce would be disgusted at that. Normally. But something twisted deep inside of him awakens. He realises Jeremiah could tear him apart, and he’d enjoy every moment. It seems that Jeremiah has him after all.

He’s utterly caught up in Jeremiah. Yet Bruce doesn’t seem to mind. He’s past fighting it at this point. Jeremiah’s lips press harder against his. Bruce melts against him. It only takes a little push for Bruce to fall into the black hole that is Jeremiah Valeska, considering that he’s already been teetering precariously close to the edge. Everything seems to go hazy as Bruce finally lets his inhibitions go. As he sinks deeper and deeper into the haze, he realises one thing.

Maybe Jeremiah was right. Maybe they’re the same after all.


End file.
